by I N Foggarty
Anna looked up as she made her way across the patch of grass that lay between the two sides of the building. Thick clumps of charcoal grey clouds were slowly forming a singular mass. These were much more foreboding than their morning counterparts. A thunderstorm would soon hit, of that, she had no doubt. Groaning she sat down on the edge of a raised flower bed that rested against the eastern side of the building. It held a neat line of well-trimmed mini evergreens above a pebble-covered surface. Allowing her rucksack to fall carelessly to the ground Anna closed her eyes and breathed in deep and slow. Though she had left the smell behind her the urge to vomit remained. She swallowed a few times to clear it and leaning down, her eyes now open again sought her guitar case. A quick unzip and a gentle tug later she cradled the battered electric instrument like she would her first born. Slipping the strap over her shoulder she caressed the strings, re-tuned it and gently placed a capo on the third fret. Pick in hand she strummed giving her baby, and her unspoken thoughts a voice that sailed away on the afternoon breeze. The notes rang out precisely, peeling like a bell and sent a chill down her spine. She dug her fingers deeper letting the strings bite further into her flesh. It may not have been a banjo, but it was no less satisfying.
For the next few minutes, the slender fingers on her left hand danced along the fretboard, while her right picked every note with precision. Lost in a world that belonged solely to her, Anna’s tired body relaxed; the music washing over her. Once more her soul found itself riding the highs and lows of the path weaved by the notes through the endless void that comprised her own personal sanctuary. Reaching the zenith of the piece she became vaguely aware of a perturbation amongst the blissful sounds. Ignoring it she continued on along the path her fingers picked out... There it was again. Something alien forcing its way amidst the sweet sounds of the music. Pressing on the intruder crashed into her path again and she almost dropped the rhythm. A second later a sudden ‘twang’ rang out as her fingers slipped and she crashed back to reality. Her guitar pick slipped from her hand and fell to the ground, her body jerking violently.
“Anna,” a voice said softly in her ear. Sucking a deep breath in through her mouth Anna took a moment to adjust. She glanced up at the dark sky, it was too bright in the real world. She hadn’t even noticed that her eyes had at some point closed. “Anna. Are you ok?”
“Don’t touch me!” she snarled, realising that the owner of the voice had a hand on her left shoulder. Instinctively she wrenched her arm free. Turning her head she caught sight of the owner's face; Matt. Anger welled up in her again when she looked at the boy's worried expression. What the hell was he doing here? She asked herself, already knowing the answer. A better question would have been, what right did he think he had to invade her musical sanctuary after the way he had just treated her?
“Go. Away,” she stated enunciating the words in a cold slow voice, a look in her eyes colder than absolute zero.
She didn’t bother to hold his gaze for the mumbled, “I’m sorry.” Instead, she took the capo off her guitar. She had no time right now for his pathetic sorry.
As her fingers took up position again on the fretboard she realised she no longer held the pick. In front of her, she watched Matt bend down and pick up the hard black plastic implement. He held it out to her. “Anna, I’m sorry.”
Anna took a deep breath, reached out a willowy hand and snatched the pick from his grasp. “Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” She let her words hang for a moment, her eyes staring at him. When he failed to respond she continued. “Or are you just saying that purely because social convention dictates you should?”
After a few seconds of silence, she unlocked her gaze and began to softly pick the strings. Maybe this was it. The thought crept into her head despite her fingers best attempts to distract her with the music. Perhaps she should just let him go and allow Natalie to ensnare him in her harpy’s grasp. She didn’t doubt it would take the bitch long. The second word reached her, most likely via Dylan, that they had broken up, she would swoop down upon Matt and sink her claws in. A cheap, ‘I’m so sorry for you’ act, a flip of her hair and a basket of cookies or something else as stupidly Stepford wife in training and he would fall for her hook, line, sinker and fishing pole to boot. Matt could be so naïve sometimes. Her head shook of its own accord.
“Anna, look I understand you’re pissed… I should have just let you deal with it.”
Anna’s pick caught the bottom string of her guitar with more force than she had intended and it vibrated uncontrollably, letting out a harsh twang. A good metaphor for her emotions as she tried to keep them in check. Did Matt honestly think her anger with him stemmed from that? If so then perhaps it would be for the best to end things here and now. She clapped a hand over the rogue string and fought the urge to punch him. “So it’s ok for people to shout abuse at me, so long as I shout some back?”
The rage she felt within must have shown somewhat on her face for Matt visibly took a step backwards before blurting out defensively, “I thought you preferred to fight your own battles.”
“That’s not the point!” Anna yelled. She leapt up from the wall and stepped towards him; the neck of her guitar clenched so tightly in her left hand that all the colour in her knuckles drained. “I’m supposed to be your girlfriend Matt! It shouldn’t matter whether or not I can or will fight my own battles.” Her eyes were ablaze and she towered over him. Her crimson hair fanned out behind her as the breeze caught it. “You sat there and let that bitch hurl abuse at me and then leapt to HER defence when I retaliated. You didn’t give a crap about how she might have made me feel. Yet when I merely suggested something horrible about her you literally threw yourself in front of me to defend her.”
Anger fuelled every word she spoke. It had been a long time since last she lost control of her emotions. Now it had happened twice in one day. Only Matt hadn’t pushed hard enough to cause her to lash out… yet.
“Anna, I didn’t realise…”
Hearing Matt stumbled over his words again set her on the offensive. “You didn’t realise what? That I actually have feelings and would for once have liked my boyfriend, the guy that’s supposed to be my best friend, supposed to love me, to have stood beside me and given some indication that he cared about me.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Too right you should be fucking sorry…”
Anna stopped abruptly, a piece of music blasting from the pocket of her black jeans. Her face fell upon recognised the ringtone, Jason. She had to answer it. Angrily she wrenched the device out. “I’m not finished with you,” she said offhandedly as she turned away from Matt. Hastily she pressed the call button and jammed the phone to her ear. “What?” she demanded, struggling to return to a more civilised tone.
“Whoa, easy, Richards,” Jason’s slimy voice replied. “Talk about biting someone’s head off.”
The falseness in the man’s tone did little to improve her mood or civility. “I’m at school, Jason. What is it?”
“Straight to the point as always, I like that. Anyway, Hillarys called in sick so it’s just you, me and a lot of movies. Maybe I’ll give you a Pepsi… if you’re a good girl.”
Urgh. Anna felt a creeping sensation sweep across her skin, like a swarm of spiders had just run along her limbs. She screwed up her face. Why did everything that came out of her boss’ mouth have to contain some sort of sexual connotation? Though Jason had done little to improve her mood he had managed to shift it more towards annoyance than anger.
“You bothered me at school just to warn me that I’m stuck with you all night?” She had lost track of the number of times she had told him not to call her during school hours. Besides having to listen to him outside of work was just needlessly irksome.
“Sorry if I misled you there, Richards. When I said it’s just you and me tonight I meant that you were covering Hillary’s shift, which starts in an hour.” Jason replied, the smirk on his face almost audible over the line.
; Anna almost dropped her phone. Did that rat-faced asshole honestly think she would just drop everything when he told her to? While the extra money would certainly help with the week’s unplanned expenses she couldn’t ditch school for work…. again. Though she had not yet encountered it, she knew the principal would have a line that not even her guidance counsellor could save her from, should she cross it. She took a slow breath before replying, firmly, “no. I’m at school Jason. I have classes this afternoon and can’t just drop everything because you call me and want me to start early.”
Silence lingered for a moment before Jason responded.
“Ok, Richards, have it your way.” The smoothness of his tone sent alarm bells ringing in her head. “But if you’re not willing to help the team out then I’ll replace you with someone who will.”
The man’s words hung in the air and Anna almost crushed her cell phone into dust. Whether or not he was bluffing she could not risk finding out. At present, she needed her job above everything else. She sighed. “Fine, Jason. I’ll be there.”
“In an hour, Richards…” he singsonged as a reminder, causing her teeth to grind in response.
“In an hour,” she echoed through them.
“I knew you were a team player, Richards. See you then.”
With that, the man hung up. Pocketing her phone Anna turned to pack up her guitar. She would have to move quickly if she were to get from here to her work on foot in the allotted time. She could easily make it within the hour. However, she would need time to change into her work clothes at the other end and Jason could be a stickler for people starting their shifts bang on time.
“What was that all about?” Anna almost jumped at hearing Matt’s voice. She had completely forgotten about him.
“I have to go,” she said curtly, quickly closing her guitar case.
“But what about afternoon classes?”
She did not have time for his bewildered state right now. “Screw afternoon classes.” Zipping up her hoodie she turned to leave and found her way blocked.
“Anna you can’t keep missing class like this. Your grades are going to drop and you won’t make it into college.” She stared blankly into Matt’s soft brown eyes. Bewilderment, worry, and a slight edge of panic reflected back at her, but above it all honest naivety. He really meant what he had just said.
She couldn’t help herself, a hollow laugh bubbled up from inside her. “You think I’m going to college?” Suddenly she felt much, much older than him. She sighed. “You really don’t have a clue do you, Matt.”
As an expression of defensive anger spread over his face the bell to signal the end of lunch rang out from the building behind them. It was funny how fast roles reversed and tables turned in life. In the split second his gaze shifted to look at the source of the noise Anna sidestepped him and set off in the direction of the nearest exit, not bothering to look back.
“Anna!” she heard him exclaim a moment later, pleading almost. Again she felt the chasm of metaphorical years between them widen and deepen.
“Go back to school, Matt,” she called out, from the edge of the building. “At least one of us should have a GPA with a future.” The last part she whispered to herself as she turned the corner and looked up into the sky. The thunderstorm would not be long in coming and she welcomed it. For it meant that she had something to share in her internal turmoil.
Another day, another sofa
Thick musty drapes hung down in front of the cracked window. On the outside, the white wood sill was chipped and rotting. A spindly spider’s web dangling from a corner; compete with freshly snared prey. From behind the ominous clouds that canvased the mid-afternoon sky, a solitary ray of light passed through the seemingly derelict window and through a hole in the drapes. It did little to illuminate the dark room, however.
Ramone twisted his thick frame around on the lumpy sofa when the patch of light caught his eyes. “Mrgh,” he groaned at being forced to relinquish the one comfortable spot he had been able to find. Inadvertently shifting his head off of his jacket come makeshift pillow, his face dragged across part of the arm that had long lost its coverings. “Argh!” Cursing he sat bolt upright and brought a hand up to rub his right cheek. He glared down at the offending exposed wood. Well, that was him awake he thought bitterly. His brain struggled to bring him up to speed with regards to whose couch he had ended up on this time. There had been far too many sofas of late.
It had been early morning by the time they had gotten from the warehouse to where Jasper, the sawbones, lived. It had not been a pleasant trip. Crammed into the truck with about the same level of organisation as a Black Friday sale the remaining members of Los sin techo had been forced to contend with the injured, the dead and the remainder of the merchandise; some of which had started to scream. It had been a bloody miracle they had not been stopped with the amount of noise that must surely have been escaping the thin metal walls. It had been a long way to travel especially giving the condition of one of their own, Mikey. However, on seeing the wound it quickly became apparent that the man needed a surgeon so anywhere closer had been out of the question. Eventually, they had made it to the doctor’s house come clinic.
The sawbones in question, Jasper, lived in the southern regions of the city and had been Ramone’s go-to for nearly five years. A skilled surgeon the doctor had been stripped of his licence to practice on grounds of ‘unethical practices’; narrowly avoiding jail by a technicality and the skill of a slick lawyer. Since then he had carved out a living by peddling his surgical and doctoring skills to anyone unable or unwilling to go to a reputable clinic. In Chicago, it had transpired to be rather lucrative. Though not the cheapest ‘mob doc’ around and with questionable bedside manners, Jasper was damn good at what he did and had his own facilities. For once though it had not been enough, Mikey died on the man’s table at eight-thirty.
Jack, on the other hand, had survived. Though a bullet had lodged itself in his left calf they had been able to apply enough pressure to stem the blood flow long enough for Jasper to scoop it out and patch him up. Afterwards, he had been given the all clear along with a copious amount of expensive painkillers. However, the chances of him not having a limp were slim. By the time the doctor moved on to the less serious cases Ramone had been falling asleep on his chair. Carlos and the driver had taken the lorry full of merchandise, corpses and uninjured away to be confined, disposed of and for a stiff drink respectively. He would have gone with them had it not meant the wounded would have been left on their own. Still, they had not returned by the time Jack had been found a bed upstairs in the room reserved for those recovering from any sort of basement OP and so Ramone had been forced to find somewhere to crash, lest he fall off the stool in Jaspers’ waiting area.
Lighting a cigarette Ramone stood up. His stomach growled at the lack of food since the previous day. Jasper typically did not offer his patients meals and if he did he would probably have charged room service rates for them anyway. Stretching his stiff limbs he winced and placed a hand over his left ribs then headed for the door.
The doctor’s house was a large early twentieth-century build that had once been a grand building in an affluent area. However, the affluence had moved on leaving the building dappled and clearly showing its age both inside and out. Though neet the grass in the front yard never seemed to be any colour but brown, the porch creaked and let in water when it rained and ivy crawled up one side. One or two of the storm shutters hung precariously loose on their windows too.
Inside, the glass panelled vestibule door was blocked from letting in light by the solid wood front door, leaving the hallway dim and lit by buzzing repurposed glass gas lamps. The den he had just vacated looked little better. Ramone did not care as he made his way down the old Chinese style runner that stretched the wooden hall floor and stood in the doorway of the living room come waiting area. Empty. Where the hell had everyone gone? When he had moved to the opposite room to get some shut-eye there had been four people still
needing medical attention; two Los sin techo men and two injured girls. He walked back up the hallway and turned to look around. What time was it?
“What are you still doing here?” a nasally voice called out from behind him. Ramone spun around. The slender figure to whom the voice belonged slowly ascended the stairs from the basement where a strong smell of disinfectant and something… metallic emanated.
The man wore his thin grey, patchy hair slicked back and a pair of round spectacles sat perched on the end of his pointed nose above his thin moustache. As ever the doctor had a scowl on his face that suggested he found everything to be an exceptional inconvenience. When Ramone failed to respond the man sighed and elaborated, “I thought you all left an hour ago.”
Ramone looked blankly at him. What did he mean all left an hour ago? He glanced at his watch, this was the second time he’d slept till after two in the afternoon this week. “Well, unless you intend to pay me for my services, which I very much doubt, would you kindly get out. I would very much like to get some sleep before more of your kind come battering on my door this evening.”
“Where did they go?” The look of confusion must have shown on Ramone’s face and the surgeon gave him a look he typically reserved for those who irritated him with idiotic questions.
“Your neanderthalic friends came back and they all muscled off like the bunch of thick-headed brainless cretins they are. And at no point did one of them offer to pay me.”
“I’ll get Sergio to cover it. You know he’s good for it.”
“See to it that he does,” Jasper snorted closing and locking the basement door and shuffling to check the waiting area himself. There was little point in trying to have a conversation with him. The man had already told him what he needed to know and would likely offer no further assistance without first getting the appropriate fee for his services.